It Isn't You, It's Me
by alishatorn
Summary: Charles/Erik. Humor. Erik labors under the assumption that his skills in the bedroom are exceptional. Our favourite telepath learns otherwise, and skillfully instructs him on how to be a better lover.


Charles Xavier falls in love for the first time.

He can't pinpoint when it happens exactly, but it was somewhere between opening Erik's mind to the space between rage and serenity and succeeding in persuading Erik to detonate the missiles away from the humans in Cuba.

He knows that Erik had done it only for his sake, and though his hands have been stained with Shaw's blood, Charles knows that he is not irredeemable. He can feel the love inside Erik's heart, feel its full strength whenever their eyes meet, and Charles is humbled by it power.

After they return from the beach, Azazel and Riptide and Angel in tow, Erik's hand clasped in his, Charles realizes that between the two of them, they have changed the world.

He also realizes that there is much, much work to do, partly because he doesn't like the way Raven is eying Azazel and partly because the CIA wants him to file a full report on the events of the day. He's not sure what he's dreading more: the paperwork or the possibility of his sister getting it on with someone who looks twice her age (an unfair assumption, he knows, because with some mutants you can never really tell).

So he gives Erik's hand an apologetic squeeze before turning to Mystique, gently steering her out the room for "the talk".

"Make yourself at home," he calls to Shaw's ex-henchmen, who shift on their feet and look vaguely uncomfortable.

Erik glares.

Charles promises himself that he'll sit down with Erik and tell him that he shares his feelings tomorrow, but when the day comes, Moira hustles them both to the CIA base for debriefing. Erik pouts during the entire ride, and it is only when Charles holds his hand that he relaxes somewhat.

"Later," he whispers, and Erik beams.

But later doesn't happen either, because Stryker insists that they be interviewed separately, over and over, by different people. Charles knows that he's doing it to make sure they're still telling the same story, and he wonders if he knows how moot that is. Hell, Charles could wave a hand and make them believe that Shaw had exploded into candy and confetti and no one would be able to tell them otherwise.

But he sticks it out anyway because he wants this to work, and he hadn't begged Erik to stand down in Cuba for nothing.

He's talking to his seventh suit when he feels the metal fixtures in the tiny room begin to shake.

"Right," he decides, standing up. "Let's continue this tomorrow, shall we? My friend and I need to be home for dinner."

He finds Erik with his mind and tells him to meet him in their car, and informs Moira that they'll be back tomorrow.

She nods, winking. "Enjoy," she mouths.

Charles wisely ignores her.

He goes to the parking lot and gets into the driver's seat, and it isn't long before Erik is running out of the entrance and jumping into the backseat.

"Drive, Charles, drive!" he shouts, and Charles barely has time to pull out of the lot before Moira has run out of the base, yelling and shaking her fist at him.

"What did you do?" Charles asks breathlessly, after they're put several kilometres between them.

Erik mumbles something unintelligible at the back of Charles' head, and he raises a brow. "I could just read your mind, you know," he says, and Erik grunts.

"I said that I may have melted all the doorknobs on the sixth floor in a fit of pique," he says loudly.

Charles shakes his head. "Oh, Erik," he sighs.

"I was hungry," Erik says defensively. "Drive faster."

He rattles the car a bit to prove his point.

Charles drives faster.

When they get back to the mansion, the children (and Azazel and Riptide) have eaten everything. Charles mutters something about inconsiderate brats before setting about making their own dinner, and is able to cobble together an omelette and some toast.

They eat quickly and neatly, and in spite of himself, Charles smiles. "This is sort of nice, isn't it?" he asks, reaching across the kitchen counter and taking Erik's hand.

"It is," Erik replies, his eyes going soft. He squeezes Charles' hand, and his mind broadcasts love and joy and peace and everything good in the world and for five seconds, everything is perfect.

Charles takes a deep breath. "Erik, I—" he begins, but before he get the word 'love' out, there's a loud crash upstairs and Azazel and Mystique appear on the kitchen table in a burst of smoke.

"Oh, you're back," says Mystique, catching sight of them. A sly smile spreads across her face when she sees their clasped hands. Erik hurriedly lets go.

They hop off the table just as Hank runs in, breathing hard. "What are you—" he growls, but cuts himself off as he catches sight of Charles and Erik. "Oh, hi, Professor. I didn't know you were back."

Azazel takes Mystique's hand and presses a kiss on her knuckles. "I fear I have overstayed my welcome," he says. "I find myself in need of a walk. Good night, my lady."

He disappears in a cloud of smoke.

"Good riddance," Hank mutters, glaring at Raven.

"We were just talking!" she snaps at him. "It's nice to talk to someone who's proud of how they look, unlike some people I could mention!"

She stalks off with her nose in the air, Hank following close behind.

Erik sighs.

"I should probably go talk to her…" Charles says, and Erik waves him away.

"Go ahead, I'll clean up," he says.

"We'll talk tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."

Tomorrow, of course, turns into the next day, and the day after that, because some infernal thing or another keeps cropping up to disturb them. If it isn't the CIA, it's Raven and her undying quest for acceptance. And if it's not that, it's Sean breaking yet another mirror by accident, or Alex decimating his great aunt Myriel's bust, or Hank giving him a laundry list of parts that they need to buy in order to rebuild Cerebro.

Charles counts himself a patient man, but he can only take so many interrupted heart-to-hearts. He's about ready to rip his mattress apart with his teeth, and he can feel Erik's frustration from halfway across the mansion without even trying to read him.

Hank is in the middle of explaining every item on the new parts list when Charles decides he's had enough. "I'm sorry, Hank," he says, standing. "But I've really got to go. If I don't tell Erik that I'm in love with him and consequently take him to bed, I'm afraid I may lose control of my powers and end up lobotomizing everyone within a 50 mile radius. I'll go over everything with you later tonight, all right?"

He's halfway out the door when he pauses, turning back. "Actually, make that tomorrow."

Hank wonders if it's possible for people with blue fur to blush, because if it was, he'd be an entirely different color by now.

Charles walks briskly down the hall, telling Erik telepathically to meet him in his room in five minutes. He sends a gentle pulse of affection and more than a little arousal along the bond before breaking it.

He smiles when Erik gets there in thirty seconds.

Charles is shucking his jacket off and arranging it on the back of his chair when his door opens. "That was fast," he says, grinning. "Did you run all the way?"

Erik is a little out of breath and his tracksuit is rumpled and sticking to him in strange wet spots. "I was in the middle of a shower," he admits, coloring.

Charles laughs softly, reaching over to touch damp skin. "Were you able to finish?" he asks, because he can see Erik's memory in his mind's eye, all steam and slick wet flesh. He shivers.

"Not really," Erik admits, and he pulls Charles against his body, gently running his fingers through his hair. "Charles, I've been waiting for this moment all week."

"So have I, my friend," Charles responds. He cups Erik's face, feeling the smooth, strong lines of his jaw against his palms. "What you did on the beach, I have… No words can express my joy at your actions, Erik. You are so much more than your hate, and you proved it in Cuba.'

'I've been meaning to tell you for quite a while now," and Charles flushes a bit at this point. "I'm afraid I've fallen in love with you, and I hope you feel the same way."

Erik smiles. "You know I do," he says, chuckling. "I haven't exactly been hiding anything."

Charles tips his head up and Erik tilts his head down and their lips meet in a kiss, soft and fitted. Or they would have, had Charles' nose not gotten in the way. Erik hums a bit and Charles laughs, tilting his head to the side, and their lips meet again. It's better this time (since they actually touch), but Erik goes in a bit too quickly and their teeth clack painfully together.

"Ow," Charles says, pulling away.

"Why don't we sit on the bed?" Erik suggests. And Charles can hear the attached /so you won't be so short/ floating around in Erik's head.

"I'm not short, you're just too tall," he protests, but sits down anyway.

"Reading my mind without permission?" Erik says, mildly reproving. "I only thought it would be easier this way."

He sits down next to Charles and moves forward again, cupping his face in his hands and tilting it just so before leaning in to kiss him gently. The third time for them, apparently, is the charm, because the kiss is languid and perfect and desire pools in Charles' belly.

Erik's tongue is inside Charles' mouth and it's twining carefully with his, Erik's hand is rubbing slow circles on the small of his back, and Charles is thinking sex/love/sex with every heartbeat.

Then Erik pulls away and trails soft kisses along Charles' neck, nipping gently before moving up to his ear, and if it's a bit strange that Erik moves even higher than that and starts licking his forehead, Charles figures that he can deal with it.

He concentrates on pulling Erik's sweatshirt up instead, distracted from the strange feeling of a tongue against his face. Erik's body is glorious, with his stomach so flat and muscled that Charles thinks he could bounce a quarter on his abdomen.

Erik gets the hint and pulls back long enough to pull his shirt off, then sets about divesting Charles of his own clothing. "You are stunning, Erik," Charles whispers, reaching up to touch the flat planes of his chest, gently running his fingers over old scars.

"As are you," Erik responds, nipping at Charles' shoulder as he pulls his shirt off. He shimmies out of his pants and Charles does the same, kicking it so hard that it falls off the bed. He blushes a bit, but Erik just laughs and pulls him close.

They kiss again, their bodies pressed flush against each other and Charles is rock hard against Erik's thigh. He's been with a handful of men before (and more women, to be honest), but it's never been like this, never been quite so intense. Charles supposes that it's because it's the first time he's ever been in love with anyone, and his heart feels like it's several sizes too big for his chest.

It's because of this intensity that he spaces out a bit, not really noticing that Erik's attentions have been directed to his (very flat) chest. His eyebrows raise in surprise as Erik squeezes his left pectoral gently as he laves his right nipple with his tongue. It's not unpleasant exactly, but it tickles a bit and Charles can't help the laugh that issues from his lips.

"I'm not a girl, Erik," he says, chuckling, running his palms appreciatively along Erik's side.

The other man laughs ruefully. "I'll try to remember that," he says. "Though I haven't gotten any

complaints before!"

He continues his ministrations down Charles' body, nipping and kissing everything in sight. Charles lays back and lets him, closing his eyes as he continues on and on and, somewhat annoyingly, onwards still. His cock is straining against his boxers but Erik ignores it entirely, choosing instead to do something strange with his mouth on Charles' knee. Charles resists the involuntarily urge to jerk it; it wouldn't do to knee Erik in the face during their first time, but he wonders just how long this strange seduction will take.

It isn't until Erik is licking his calf that Charles props himself up on his elbows, frowning a bit. "Erik, darling, come here," he says. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Foreplay," Erik responds somewhat smugly. "I've been told I'm rather good at it."

"By whom?" Charles can't help himself from asking, more than a little incredulous. He lifts himself up on his elbows, meeting Erik's gaze.

"I've never been with a man before," Erik says defensively. "Though the women I've been with have all been rather complementary."

/That's because they've all been drunk and you've never slept with anyone more than once,/ Charles thinks, catching a glimpse of the memories most paramount in Erik's mind.

He bites his lip, not wanting to hurt his friend's feelings but unwilling to continue on like this, either. "How about we try something else?" Charles asks. He reaches out and gently brushes his fingers against Erik's lips. "Men and women behave in different ways, and I daresay that what you find… pleasing… would be something I would enjoy as well."

He takes Erik by the elbows and gently pushes him to lie down on his side, reclining as well so they're facing each other.

"Do you trust me?" he asks, fingers hovering over Erik's temple.

"Implicitly," Erik replies.

The smile Charles gives him is soft and secret, and he slips himself into the bubbling pool of Erik's mind. /Can you hear me?/ he projects.

/Of course. You're two inches away from me./ Erik's thoughts are warm with laughter.

/Wonderful. I've linked our minds together… our thoughts and feelings are one, for the moment./ Charles sends him a delicious pulse of arousal through the bond, and Erik shivers.

/As much as I enjoy our psychic chats, what exactly is the purpose of this, Charles?/

Charles grins. /You'll see,/ he thinks, and then leans forward and kisses him. He twines his tongue around Erik's, sucking lightly on his lower lip, and is rewarded by a low gasp as Erik realizes what he's done.

/I felt that! As you,/ Erik stutters. /And as me, at the same time. How is this possible?/

/I'm simply allowing you access to what I'm feeling while experiencing everything as you normally would,/ Charles says. /It's a neat trick and especially handy, though I never thought I'd use it for something like this./

He runs a hand down his own neck and chest, trailing over his stomach. When he touches himself, cupping his cock through his boxers, Erik moans.

/I felt that,/ Erik thinks wildly.

/I know,/ Charles replies. Now it's his turn to sound smug. /Touch yourself for me, love. I want to feel you, too./

Erik complies, hesitantly bringing his hands down and tugging his briefs off. Then he takes himself in his hand, stroking himself in long, languorous movements. Charles can feel his pleasure along with his own, taking stock of every motion.

/That's it,/ he thinks, pausing to quickly shed his boxers the rest of the way off. /Show me how you like to be touched./

He moves closer as Erik continues to stroke himself, hyperaware of how Erik feels whenever skin brushes skin. Charles claims his mouth in a searing kiss, reaching down and cupping his hand over Erik's as they stroke down his length. Dimly, he feels Erik do the same, and they're both touching themselves and each other, feeling the rictus of pleasure build in the both of them, feeding off of each other's lust.

Erik's breathing is coming in hitched gasps now, and Charles deliberately slows his hand, slowing them both down to a tolerable pace. /Not yet,/ he sends through the bond, kissing him again.

He disentangles himself gently and reaches over Erik, rummaging around a bit in his side table's drawer for the tub of Vaseline he's kept. Erik raises a brow as he procures it, popping the lid open and dipping Erik's fingers into it.

"I see you've come prepared," Erik observes dryly, watching in fascination as his fingers slide into the slippery substance.

"You kind of have to be, for this sort of thing," Charles replies, putting the tub aside. "I want you inside me, Erik."

Erik's mouth goes abruptly dry at the thought, and he swallows hard as Charles guides his hand down. "One finger first," he says, biting his lip. "It's been a while, so go slowly…"

Erik's hand shakes a bit as he presses his index finger against Charles' entrance, caressing it gently before pushing inside. It's slow, so achingly slow, and he can feel Charles clench and then slowly relax against his finger, can feel exactly what he feels, how exquisite his pleasure.

/Another now,/ Charles thinks, and Erik wholeheartedly agrees. He pulls out a bit before adding another finger, twisting them gently as he pushes them inside and out. Charles' mouth has formed a small 'O' of pleasure, his lips red against his milk-white skin.

Erik repeats the twisting motion, feels the pleasure jolt inside of him as if he were splayed against Charles' fingers as well, and adds a third finger.

Charles' hips are moving in cadence to the thrusting of his fingers, his cock bobbing against his stomach. Erik is filled with the urge to suck it, to taste Charles' seed against his tongue, and he hears Charles' moan of pleasure as he catches the thought.

/I'm ready,/ Charles tells him, his mind fiery and hot. /You have no idea how much I want you right now.../

He gently disentangles himself from Erik's hand and pushes at his shoulder until he's flat on his back, mounting him with easy grace. Their cocks align as if they were made to do it, and they both moan at the amplified sensation.

Charles eyes are so very, very blue.

"Charles, what are you-?" Erik's voice is rough, and he moans when Charles slides against him again, rolling his hips.

"It will be easier this way," Charles whispers. "So I can control the pace."

Erik holds his breath as Charles raises himself up slightly, positioning himself against Erik's cock. He watches in fascination as Charles sinks down on it, bracing himself on the headboard as his length disappears inside his lover's body.

He can feel him stretched out across their bond, the exquisite thickness that fills him so well. Charles moans when he's seated completely, thoroughly impaled on Erik's length.

Erik has never quite felt anything like it; he thinks he may come without Charles even having to move.

"Please don't," Charles says out loud, his eyes closed as he adjusts to the slight burn. "I'd hate to go to all this trouble for nothing."

So Erik closes his eyes and tries to think of several mundane things to keep his mind off of how Charles has quite casually begun to fuck himself on Erik's cock. He thinks of Charles' horrible tea, Hank's enormous brown shoes, and Moira.

Charles is unable to keep an earthy chuckle from escaping at the last thought, and Erik opens his eyes to find an unmistakable twinkle in his gaze.

"Jealous?" Charles teases. He rocks down on Erik, twisting his hips just so as the other man moans. "You don't need to be… I only have eyes for you, my friend."

And that declaration pretty much wipes away any illusions of the mundane in Erik's mind, and he pushes back, raising his torso off the bed so he's sitting up. Now close enough to kiss, he gathers Charles to him in a passionate embrace, pulling him tighter against him so that his cock is pressed flush against Erik's stomach.

/I love you,/ he thinks, and kisses him.

The small height difference works in their advantage this time, and Charles' mouth is thoroughly debauched as Erik's hands at his hips control his pace. His fingers press tightly against Charles' skin, leaving little prints on the pale skin; Erik thinks he's never seen anything so beautiful.

He can feel Charles' orgasm build through their bond, and he moves back far enough so that he can allow Charles to touch himself. He does so, biting his lip as he gets his hand on his cock, watching Erik through half-lidded eyes. Erik's hands are still on his hips, and he thrusts up hard as Charles' grinds down, and the shock of pleasure is more than enough to send his lover over the edge.

Charles is none too quiet about his orgasm; the long, low moan that issues from his lips is the filthiest thing that Erik's ever heard. Coupled with the fact that he can actually feel Charles come pushes him to his own orgasm, and he shudders as he spends himself inside the tight, wet heat.

The wave of pleasure that they share through the bond, both their own and each other's, has them riding the wave for far longer than normal, and Erik shudders at the pure intensity of it.

They come down eventually, and Charles practically falls over when he disentangles himself from Erik's embrace.

"Wow," he says, collapsing on the mattress.

"Indeed," Erik replies, swallowing hard. He reaches over to take Charles' hand, squeezing gently. "That was…"

/Wonderful./ It's the last shared thought they have before Charles breaks the connection, and Erik feels strangely lonely.

"It will pass," Charles says. "Give it a moment…" He runs his free hand through his hair, exhaling softly.

"Hm."

Erik looks down at the mess on his stomach, running a finger experimentally through Charles' seed. He brings it to his mouth and licks his finger, raising a brow at the taste. It's bitter, but not quite as vile as he thought it would be.

"Erik…" Charles is looking at him with very, very wide eyes.

Erik pulls him back towards him, kissing him thoroughly, letting him taste himself on his mouth. "Shower," he says afterwards, contemplatively, and Charles nods.

He wrinkles his nose as he shifts a bit. "I'd like to go first, if you don't mind," he says, but Erik smirks.

"Together," he says. "I may need you to show me how to work the taps or something."

He thinks as hard as he can about Charles naked and wet, Erik's hand fisting his cock as he braces himself against the tiles.

Charles sees it, he knows he does, and the way he blushes makes Erik smile. "Or something," he echoes.

He stands then, holding out a hand to Erik. "You're a fast learner, my friend."

"I had a good teacher," Erik replies, and takes his hand.

#


End file.
